Girlish Figure
by sweetlymoonlit
Summary: A small series of equally small one-shots about girl!Sam, due to a witch's spell. No plot.
1. Chapter 1

John woke up that morning, just like any other. Coffee first, idle research second, then waking his boys up last. He limped over to the bed his sons were sleeping on, when he noticed a change. The Sam Lump was different. Dean Lump was its normal, splayed out shape with a tuft of hair protruding from the blankets. Sam Lump was...small. Normally Sam Lump slightly extended off the end of the bed, and was a little bigger than Dean Lump. But today? Sam Lump reached somewhere in the middle of the bed, and was practically dwarfed by Dean Lump. Had Dean brought a girl home? John didn't remember that. So where was Sam? The frustrated parent ripped the blankets off of the lumps, a cruel move he usually only saved for special occasions. Dean shot upright, looking dazedly around the room.

John, eyes wide, ignored Dean's "Whu?". There, on the bed, in Sam's place, lay a girl. Still sound asleep, she was small (practically drowned in a man's clothing) , with thick, dark brown hair that had a wavy curl to it. Dean noticed his father's preoccupation, and therefore, the girl.

"What the crap?!" He leaped out of bed, casting a confused glance first at John, then the girl, and back again.

"You didn't bring her here?" John asked in a whisper, determined not to wake the unknown female up.

"No!" Dean whisper-yelled. "Who is she? And, where's Sam?"

Then, a horrible realization hit the hunter. He slowly approached the girl, and gently shook her fragile shoulder. She slowly opening her eyes and, not quite awake yet, revealed the truth to John. Sam's eyes stared back at him, deep and chocolate brown, as innocent as could be. Now, they were bigger, rounder, more thickly lashed. John stood, and met Dean's curious gaze solemnly.

"It's Sam."

"What?!" This exclamation was shouted, causing girl-Sam to startle awake, looking wildly around the room, much like his brother had. "Sam? Oh, shit, Sam!"

"What?" The room was met with a sudden stillness when Sam spoke. His voice was now high and delicate. Sam clutched his throat, and looked down at himself. Silence, a tension about to reach its breaking point. Sam slowly looked up into John's eyes.

"Fix it."

John felt very weary all of a sudden, and moved to sit down. Head in hands, the father said, "Sammy. What. Do you think. Might have caused this?"

"Damn friggin witch, I'll bet you anything that's what-"

"Dean."

"Well it damn friggin was."

Sam let out a shuddering breath, and pushed his now very long hair out of his face. "Um. I don't really know. I mean a witch _is_ the only thing that really makes sense, but I have no clue why anyone would want to turn me into a girl, I mean...it's not like that will kill me."

"It does mean you're weaker now. But that still seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to just to get someone vulnerable." John was now leaning back, studying his son, or daughter, whatever. Dean sat on the bed with a _flump._

"So, what's gonna fix this? Or what caused it? I mean, like, a hex bag?" Dean was staring at Sam, making him feel somewhat like a zoo animal.

"I have no idea, Dean, but I feel like right now I really just want to be in clothes that fit." Sam hiked up his mega-sized pajama pants, as if to prove a point. He only succeeded in making the shoulder of his shirt fall down.

"Okay, just...just roll the pants so they don't drag. I'll get you some clothes somewhere." Dean, hopped to his feet, searching around for his own clothes to put on. Sam had one eyebrow raised, seriously doubting Dean's ability to pick out a roughly 5"4' female's clothing.

"Well, okay. Just get something normal. Like, a hoodie, and sweatpants. Don't get anything iffy. Oh! Also I need shoes!" Dean paused in the action of yanking a shirt over his head.

"What size do you think you are?"

"I have no idea. Here, let's just compare my foot to my shoe." Sam scrambled off the bed, still clutching at his pajamas, and retrieved his shoe. "Okay! Wow, this thing is massive." He sat on the floor, and bundled his pant leg up to his knee in order for his foot to be exposed. He positioned his foot to be at the heel of the shoe.

"Man, you've got some hairy legs."

"Well, girl me has never shaved, and I don't plan to. Okay, remember that reference point, and get a shoe that roughly matches it. It's better to go a size up rather than down, probably." He handed Dean the shoe. "Okay?"

"Okay little bro. Sis."

John had watched this whole exchange in silence, puzzling over who wanted Sam as a girl and why. Dean, looking eager to do something helpful, was almost out the door.

"Hey, be careful, obviously someone is targeting us. Just be quick, don't draw attention to yourself."

Dean huffed a laugh, "I'll try to be inconspicuous as I buy women's clothing, Dad, don't worry."

John raised an eyebrow. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. Okay bye, don't kill each other while I'm gone." And gone he was.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wow, so this is girl me." Sam squinted, examining his new reflection. "Why am I so short? This sucks."

John sipped his coffee, watching his son (or newfound daughter) twist around to see his ample hips from behind. He heard a murmured, "Dang, I've got a bubble butt."

"Well apparently, if you had been born a girl, you would have taken after my mom. She was short like that. I think, as your normal self, you're a mixture of me and your grandpa. Right now, though...you are a little thing, let me tell you that."

Sam scowled, coming over to plop down in the chair across from John. "I don't like it." he said. A couple seconds passed, during which the father watched his son's new baby-faced features puzzle over something. The problem finally made it to the surface.

"Dad...I need a bra."

John blinked once. "O-okay. I'll call Dean. Um. What, um, size?" He fumbled trying to get his phone out of his pocket. Sam made a scandalized face that suggested John had called him a no-good ruffian with a poor education and lacking manners. Or whatever it was that offended civilized ladies. "Well, Sam, you asked for a bra so I have to know what- what size!"

The girl in front of him pursed her full lips. "I...don't know. Just tell Dean to get one. Please. Sir." John suddenly felt the need to look less intimidating, which was a new one for him.

"I'll call him, hold on." He paced to the other end of the motel room, wondering how a search for a werewolf had turned into shopping for bras. Across the room, Sam listened to the one sided conversation.

"Hey, your brother needs a bra." He heard a high pitched whining sound coming from the phone. "I don't care how it looks, Dean, just get it. How am I supposed to know? Just get one, any kind. It's not gross. No one will think you're a cross dresser, Dean." Sam held back a snort. "Dammit, Dean, the one time you defy an order! I told to you make this quick. Find a bra, buy it, come home. They can't be that expensive. Okay, make it quick! Bye."

John stomped back to his chair, and took a swig of coffee. "Happy?" He glared at Sam. The boy smiled sheepishly.

"A little."


	3. Chapter 3

"So, I don't look like...like Mom? Not even a little bit?" Sam asked suddenly, addressing his cereal bowl. John stilled in the action of spoon-to-mouth, glancing at his son.

"Well, uh, no not really." Sam gave a falsely casual nod, poking his fruit loops. "But," John figured he might as well say it. "Uh, you do have her voice. Kinda spooky, actually."

John didn't find it necessary to mention how he had startled awake, hearing his wife's melodious laugh, only to find a dark-heading girl curled up on the couch with Dean and laughing at some joke. It had taken him a moment to realize that this was (technically) Mary's daughter, who would of course take after her in some way.

Sam caught his attention by saying, "Really?" in a gentle, Mary-like way. John nodded.

"Yep. Uh, yeah, her voice was...soft. Like yours is now." He smiled absently.

He looked up, seeing Sam watching him in fascination.

"I sound like that?" He squeaked indignantly. John nodded, noticing how Sam's chubby cheeks had colored. "I mean, it's cool that I sound like her, but I used to have a deep voice. I got compliments on it! Man, I can't wait to be a guy again."

John just chuckled, and pinched Sam's cheek roughly, making the kid squeal in agitation.


	4. Chapter 4

A long sigh came from the kitchen, and John's trained ear heard it as one of exasperation. He remembered Mary doing the same thing when he gave Dean ice cream before bed.

"Alright in there?" He called. Silence. "Sam." Now it was an order. He heard some shuffling, then:

"I...I can't reach." The last bit was practically mumbled. A few steps led John into the kitchen, and to an amusing sight.

Sam had one leg hooked onto the counter top, which looked like it had taken some effort, and was stretching his free arm toward the top of the fridge. He didn't notice John come in, and opted to bring his previously dangling left leg onto the counter also, in order to stand. His head still didn't touch the ceiling. Finally, chips in hand, he noticed John. A blush crept up his delicate neck.

"Whoever threw these on top of the fridge is a jerk."

"That was you Sam, when you were tall." John had a hard time concealing his bemusement. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"You need to learn to ask for help, Sammy. You're at a disadvantage now, so neither of us will object to helping you out. Lifting stuff, reaching stuff, opening doors, you name it. Chivalry is not dead in this family." Sam huffed, and gracefully hopped down from the counter. Sam being graceful: a miracle.

"I'm not crippled just cause I'm smaller _for now_. I'll survive till I'm back to normal."

"I know that, Dean and I both do. But you have to face the fact that you're more vulnerable now, and not just because you're a 'petite young lady'. You're unused to this body, your balance is off, your aim is way off, and you're overestimating what you're capable of." John ticked off his fingers, listing Sam's uselessness. "Think you can throw or flip Dean in a sparring match? Think again. You've got two options here: either start learning how to cope with this body, or stay damn well out of the way because face it, Sam, you're a liability."

Sam crossed his arms, chips still in hand. "Why are you acting like this is my fault? I just want to be me again. Girl Sam is no fun. I got cat called going to get a freaking soda and... and I have too much hair, just too much everything I don't want. I mean I have basically zero upper body strength, I'm terrified of getting jumped or something and barely being able to throw a punch! What am I supposed to do then?!"

He looked at his feet; clearly that last part wasn't supposed to come out. John dragged hand through his hair, blowing out.

"I'm not saying it's your fault, I'm saying you need to quit acting like this is no big deal, and decide where your position is in this damn hunt. Geez, Sammy, you think I take a witch targeting you lightly? I don't. I know you want the old you back, we all do." Silence reigned for about three seconds. "And when did you get cat called? What are you talking about?"

Sam idly twirled a strand of chocolaty hair, still looking vaguely at the floor.

"I dunno, I went out for a soda while you and Dean were asleep, and these weird guys were sitting on the hoods of their cars. I guess they were drinking, whatever. They called me slut and stuff, and said...nasty things involving...my...girl parts. Anyway, one of them acted like he was going to come over to me, so I ran inside." Sam leaned against the counter, opening the chip bag, but not eating. John scowled, trying to remember if he had seen any men lurking around their motel room door.

"Well...did you get your soda?"

"No."

"Do you still want one?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay."

Later that day, Sam found a grape soda sitting by his computer. He drank it, even though his favorite flavor was orange.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: This is an alternate version of Girlchester, with Dean as our leading lady. Just an itty bitty snippet of a conversation between Dean and John.**

"Dad, I think I look like Mom." John peered into the bathroom where his son was standing, transfixed by his reflection.

"You look just like her, really..." When his voice broke, John trailed off, opting to just look with Dean at the girl in the mirror. He pretended not to notice Dean's shaking hand reaching up to caress the golden curls draped across the slender shoulders. He mentally shook himself, then rushed on gruffly, "But you still look Dean-ish. Your mom didn't have freckles on her nose. And...her voice was different."

Dean nodded, his eyes shifting away from the mirror. "Cool."


End file.
